


happiness is what we all want (may it be that we don't always want)

by louis_quatorze



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Operation Pitfall (Pacific Rim), also the porn, come for the makeover stay for the feelings, uprising what uprising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 21:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15738111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louis_quatorze/pseuds/louis_quatorze
Summary: Following the events of Operation Pitfall, Dr. Hermann Gottlieb writes a book. And leaves the PPDC. And figures out, sort of, what he actually wants out of life.





	happiness is what we all want (may it be that we don't always want)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hot Chip. Uprising isn't happening here.

Dr. Herman Gottlieb got a haircut.

More accurately, he sat down, had an espresso, and a young woman with ice-blonde hair did the actual cutting, under the direction of a curly-haired man named Kenne who, as he seemed to about everything, had very intense opinions about how the haircut should be. Hermann was not very much involved in the process.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone else had cut his hair. 

It had started with the book. Hermann was a man of numbers, not letters, but he wasn’t ignorant of history. More importantly, he wasn’t unaware of the way it could be distorted, rewritten, simply because information disappeared. He wasn’t a man of letters, but he had been there, all throughout the last months and weeks and days of the Kaiju War, and he (and Newton, of course, especially Newton) had played a pivotal role. It was one that needed to be remembered properly. Considering how they’d acted, he couldn’t let the higher-ups at the United Nations be the ones to write the story of those desperate, triumphant days. They hadn’t been the victors, not really. They couldn’t be remembered that way.

So he started writing. It went quicker than he anticipated, but then, this wasn’t the tortured English essays of his unfortunate youth. This was his story, how he wanted to tell it. He knew it, he lived it, and all he had to do was express it. It became a pet obsession of his non-working hours, a distraction from the twin ordeals of packing up his lab and sorting out his future. To be brutally honest, he clung to it, unwilling to truly think about what to do next until he’d made his record of what had been. 

He’d spent his entire adult life fighting the Kaiju. He’d believed he would do so for the entirety of it, and had not let himself think that there would be any other option. He would pour his energies into understanding the Breach and the Anteverse, into predicting the Kaiju, and that would be his life’s work. It was duty. He couldn’t do anything else, and after twelve years, couldn’t imagine anything else. Once the Breach was closed, the possibilities became overwhelming.

He pushed them off. He had the lab to settle, and the book, of course. 

Newton helped, in his way, loudly complaining about still being tied to the Shatterdome but making no move to do anything about it, saying something about the need to make sure he had notes and data on everything before he did. It sounded convincingly like he wasn’t stalling, which Hermann gratefully appreciated. His own excuses were a little less solid. His data was mostly digital, easily squirreled away in a few flash drives, his notes from the past decade meticulous already.

More importantly, Newt helped with the book, when he made Hermann admit to writing it. (It was hard to miss, considering how many evenings they spent together, as Hermann had no proper reason to drag his laptop out so often.) Newton argued with Hermann over his memories, making him check logs and records before he’d reluctantly, with a lot of yelling, acquiesce, Hermann scowling the night away when Newton proved himself right. He edited the chapters Hermann handed him with more force than the professional who would take over the job. And when it was finished, the last word decided on, he turned to Hermann and kissed him with vigor.

“It’s so fucking good, babe,” he murmured, eyes shining with a pride that made Hermann want to turn away. “Fucking amazing. You won’t be able to show your face at the PPDC again, maybe, but you’ll be a bestselling author, so who the fuck cares?” 

Newton had been accurate at the first part, and the publishing house was expecting the second, and Hermann felt like he should have minded more, but he didn’t. There was part of him that wanted to stay with the PPDC, to further understand the mysteries of the Breach, but he could already tell the direction it was going. The one it would always go to without Pentecost. He supposed the book was his own small protest, a sign that Newton had rubbed off on him, or maybe it was just his way of forcing the issue without really deciding on anything. 

Regardless, the result, after a bidding war that made Hermann’s head spin, was that he (and Newton) were no longer employed by the PPDC, and had, indeed, left Hong Kong entirely, permanent destination unknown, but current destination New York City. They had been put in temporary accommodations that, after years in the militaristic damp metal of the last remaining Shatterdome, felt unconscionably luxurious, with a soft bed and a full working kitchen and a doorman that Hermann didn’t know how to interact with. 

And, of course, the haircut.

The publisher insisted he do a press tour. Involved in doing a press tour was learning how to talk to the press – fair enough, Hermann was not a great speaker and had never talked to a journalist in his life – and Kenne. Kenne was, of all the possible things in the world, his stylist. He had a faint Dutch accent and a great deal of opinions about subjects Hermann had no idea about, having spent his formative years in uniform, his subsequent ones in laboratories, and the last five in particular in a bunker trying to prevent the end of the world. 

Newton had been enthusiastic about the idea, which made Hermann both willing to put up with it and extremely apprehensive.

“Your hair is somewhat fine,” Kenne said, looking for Hermann’s eyes in the mirror, and he snapped back to attention. “So we have to keep that in mind while styling – it’ll take product well, but there’s only so much to work with at this stage. You might consider growing it out a bit in the future, now that we’ve fixed it.”

Hermann felt like he should have been offended, but it was difficult to argue with Kenne about these matters. And, as he looked at himself, in both the mirror in front of him and the one the woman with the ice-blonde hair was holding behind him, he did have to admit that he looked…better. His undercut was sharper, cut along a perfectly straight edge, fringed with an even row of hair. In the front, his hair swept neatly along his forehead, everything in place, shining in a way Hermann didn’t think was possible. It seemed to subtly change his face, even, draw out the planes and angles, or maybe that was just the lighting in the salon. Either way, it was different, in a pleasant way. He looked like he belonged there. He’d rarely felt that in salons. “I will take that into consideration,” he murmured. 

Kenne shrugged and handed him a few dark containers. “Use these in the morning, after you shower. First this one, then the other. Smooth it down. Oh, and shampoo – “ He turned, handing two more bottles to Hermann. “Use this, and don’t forget the conditioner.” At Hermann’s slightly beleaguered expression, he handed him a tote bag. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

Hermann wasn’t completely convinced. He hoped that the haircut would stand up to his inevitable neglect. 

~

“Think I’m going to cook tonight, anything you want?”

“Hmm?” Hermann was still in the bathroom, eyeing the containers Kenne had given him warily. 

“Dinner. We’ve got this kitchen, seems like a shame to keep going with takeout. Anything you want?”

“I trust you.” Hermann picked up the first container and frowned. He had a doctorate in mathematical physics. He’d been instrumental in closing the Breach and saving mankind. He’d survived Eton. He could, he was sure, figure out a bit of styling product. 

“Herms?” Newton wandered into the bathroom. “You okay?” 

“I am fine, Newton,” Hermann said firmly, eyes still focused on the container in his hand. “I’m just…getting ready.”

“Let me see that.” Newton snatched the container out of Hermann’s hand with his usual tact, a teasing grin on his face. “Damn, this is nice stuff.”

“I’m sure it is,” Hermann replied stiffly, glaring at him but making no move to take it back. 

“You want help?” 

Hermann huffed, annoyed with himself and the situation. He should be able to follow simple instructions. But he’d been staring at them for five minutes and his hair was no closer to being styled, and Newton’s teasing expression had shifted to something softer when he’d asked. “Just show me the order. I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have been.” 

“Just a little of the oil, to moisturize,” Newton said, putting a few drops in his hands and then rubbing it over Hermann’s hair gently, smoothing it over the strands. “And this…” He picked up the other container, a short cylinder, and unscrewed the lid, scooping out a bit of whatever was inside. “You don’t need much, just a little bit, and you smooth it over the sides and the front like…there.”

Hermann peered at himself in the mirror. It didn’t look exactly like it had when he’d left the salon, but it was a reasonable facsimile, and better than what he would have done. “Thank you, Newton.”

Newton grinned, shutting the container and rinsing off his hands. “No problem, babe. Hate to see all that fine work go to waste.”

“Hmm.” Newton had, predictably yet gratifyingly, loved the haircut, crowing delightedly over it as soon as Hermann had got back to the flat. He’d taken pictures, even, pushing Hermann around the living room to find the best light. Hermann wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Newton was going to do with the pictures, but at least he could be heartened by that seal of approval. “I shouldn’t be too late back, I don’t think. Just a few tasks today.”

“Cool, just text me when you’re on your way back.” Newton grinned and wandered back to the living room. 

“All right.” Hermann picked up his cane and followed, frowning slightly as he saw that Newt had already taken up residence on the couch and was absently flicking through channels. “You don’t have to wait for me while I’m out, you know.”

“Who said I was?” Newt stretched across the couch, pillowing his arms over the edge and blinking up at Hermann.

“You could…go somewhere. Sightseeing, or something.” Hermann fidgeted with the handle of his cane. He hated that he was so busy, unable to spend any time with Newton during the day, and he hated that he was keeping Newton here in New York when he certainly had something he would rather be doing. Newton had acted like he’d never not considered following Hermann around as he did publicity, but Hermann thought it had to be boring. It would be for him.

“I will. I mean, I’ve seen a lot of it already, but we’ve got like a month, yeah?” 

“More or less,” Hermann said with a sigh. “They might try to tack on more, while they have me.”

“Cool.” Newton flipped himself over, turning his attention back to the television. “More time to see shit, then. Now, though, I’ve got no actual tasks, no looming apocalypse, and like, three years of popular culture to catch up on.” He grinned. “Awww, Herms, were you worried about me being bored?”

Hermann sniffed. “I still hate that nickname you insist on using.”

“You were!” Newton sounded gleeful. “Trust me. I’m relaxing. I fucking needed it, dude.”

That, at least, Hermann could accept. They had all been worn to the bone in the last months of the war, and while things weren’t so hectic post-Pitfall, it hadn’t exactly been calming, either. Newton had been looking better since they’d arrived in New York, for all he hadn’t left the flat much, calmer, the dark circles finally fading from his eyes. Thinking about it that way, Hermann was a bit jealous that Newton got to relax while he was shuttled around. “Well. I’ll let you know when I’m back, then.”

“Have fun!” 

~

Hermann did not, actually, have fun. In fact, he’d been eager to get away, still in the outfit that Kenne had put him in, frustrated and uncomfortable and wishing he was back in Hong Kong. He knew what he was doing there. Everything in New York was too different, too strange, and now he didn’t even look like himself. 

“Hey babe!” Newton called from the kitchen as Hermann opened the door, and Hermann was so relieved to hear his voice. “How was your…oh.”

Hermann pressed his lips together. “Yes. I look ridiculous.”

“No!” Newton stood back and cocked his head, considering. Hermann’s cheeks burned. “It kind of suits you, in like, a weird way.” 

Hermann glared and tugged at the oversized yellow sweatshirt he was wearing. “How does this suit me?” 

“It brings out your cheekbones,” Newton said, shrugging when Hermann continued to glare at him. “What? It does.” 

“Fine. So this is what I wear now.” 

“Hey. I did not say that.” 

“Then what do you mean?” Hermann snapped, frowning at Newton’s gormless expression. “You like it, Kenne likes it, obviously this is what I should be wearing.”

“Hey. Hey.” Newton reached out and covered Hermann’s hand with his, smoothing his thumb over the back. “You know you can like…tell him no, right?”

Hermann sighed wearily, feeling the fight leech out of him. He was tired. He hadn’t expected all of this to be so exhausting, when he’d agreed to come here. “Why? He’s the expert, and we all know I can barely dress myself.” 

“You always look adorable,” Newton protested. 

“You hate my trousers.”

“They don’t fit!” Newton winced when he realized what he’d said. “But I mean, you look cute. You always look cute. And like…you don’t have to wear shit you don’t like. It’s still your body, you know? And there’s a lot of different ways to dress, I’m sure Kenne will work with you about it, or you know, you can tell him to go to hell, you’re the client.” 

It was sweet, that Newton was trying. 

“So go change. I made dinner.”

Worn out enough to oblige, Hermann went off to the bedroom, peeling off the sweatshirt and uncomfortably tight trousers, deciding that, although it was still quite early, he was tired enough to put on his pajamas. He was starting to see the utility of Newton’s collection of casual clothes, the sweatpants and T-shirts he wore around the flat. He’d never developed such a collection himself. He never had much free time. 

Feeling slightly more like himself, he made his way to the small dining table. There was something pleasingly intimate about the size of it, after the more industrial scale of the dining areas in the Shatterdome. Truth be told, he had been anxious about taking Newton with him to New York. He'd never truly shared living space with anyone, even in the most industrial of accommodations. There had always been a private area to retreat to and wasn’t sure how he would handle sharing, especially with Newton, who had made their lab space so impossible. But Newton was proving a better romantic partner than a lab partner, filling the sterile environs of the rental with life and atmosphere and remembering to put away his clothing far more often than Hermann would have expected. The little nest of books and electronics he’d built up on his side of the couch was endearing, a reminder that he was a presence in Hermann’s life. And it was pleasant, after a wearying day, to be able to sit down with him like this, to know that the evening was more than just a stretch of time until he could work again.

“So I have no idea if you’ll like this or not, but I’ve been kind of thinking about it since we left Hong Kong, right, and if you don’t like it we can get some takeout and I’ll eat the rest for lunch this week, which I might have been intending to do anyway, so it’s not that much of a loss.”

“I’m sure it will be fine, Newton. I’m surprised you cooked at all.” It was, perhaps, not actually all that surprising. Newton always had opinions about food at the Shatterdome, was frequently rushing off to try new restaurants in Hong Kong. Now that they were no longer part of that system, it made enough sense that Newton would cook. That he actually did so was a bit of a recalibration of what Hermann thought Newton was. 

“Ha ha, very funny, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Herms.” Newton bustled out of the kitchen holding two shallow bowls, one of which he placed in front of Hermann with a flourish. “Now, normally, I’d make the spätzle myself, but all my kitchen shit is in those boxes in Jersey, so I was going to look up how to do it without the tools, but they had some already when I went to find the sausages, because it’s New York and you can get anything, so I figured it would do for now. Someday I’ll make them for you properly. But the rest of it’s solid – proper Swabian lentils.”

“Swabian?” Hermann asked, raising his eyebrows. It did smell nice. “I thought you were from Berlin.”

“I am from Berlin,” Newton replied, exaggerating his accent comically. “But my father’s Swabian, and he used to make this all the time. And when I was at MIT, I basically lived off it – it freezes really well, so you can make a ton at the weekend and then just heat it up whenever. Once I saw we had a kitchen in here, I was like, shit, I haven’t had this in years, I’ve got to make it.” He took a bite and made a very appealing moaning sound. “Yeah, I’ve missed that.”

Hermann took an experimental bite. “This is very good, Newton.”

Newton beamed. “Thanks! I have fucking missed cooking, let me tell you. You gotta tell me what you want, too, I’ve got like, time to learn whatever, or at least give it a shot.”

Hermann poked at one of the lentils on his plate. Unlike Newton, it seemed, he didn’t think much about food. From an early age, he’d learned to eat whatever was put in front of him. There wasn’t any space for arguing, as it would do nothing but make his father angry or the other boys at school mock him more. At university he’d eaten whatever was the easiest to acquire, usually from the cafeteria the closest to his labs, and the various Shatterdomes of his adult life simply carried on the trend. Preferences rarely entered into it. He found he had no requests to make of Newton. “I’ll think about it,” he said, returning his attention to his dinner. It really was quite good. 

~

“I…” Herman hesitated. 

Kenne looked up, eyebrows raised. 

It was not an expression that Hermann wanted to cross, but he’d started, and Newton’s advice rang in his mind. “I don’t like this color,” he said, and he hoped he sounded firm about it.

“Finally,” Kenne said empathically, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling in a theatrical touch. 

“Excuse me?” Hermann snapped, surprise making him revert to his normal defense mechanisms. 

“You’ve expressed some kind of preference,” Kenne replied with a smirk, putting the offending shirt back on the rack. “Honestly, Dr. Gottlieb, based on your reputation I expected you to be more difficult.” 

“What does my reputation have to do with anything?” Hermann frowned, halfway to offended, another quarter to running away entirely. He didn’t have to publish the book. He could leave it in archives for future historians, run back to Germany and continued wearing what he already owned. 

“Look,” Kenne said, in what Hermann supposed was a sympathetic tone. “This works the best if it’s a collaboration. The whole point of my job is to make you look good, and if you’re uncomfortable, it shows, and it looks like I’m not doing my job properly.” 

Hermann pressed his lips together. He wasn’t sure he liked Kenne, but he understood the logic of what he was saying. It was, in all honesty, not too far off Newton’s assessment of the situation, not that he intended to inform Newton about it. “I don’t know the first thing about fashion.”

“Also my job.” Kenne grinned, looking pleased with himself. “I figure out the details, although you can still veto if you think it’s needed. Your job, Dr. Gottlieb, is telling me what you want to look like.” 

Want. Hermann always had a problem with the word. The militaristic lines of the PPDC left little room for individuals, for preferences, for anything but the discipline needed to defeat the Kaiju. It was expected to move from Shatterdome to Shatterdome, to focus on the projects that the top of the hierarchy saw as important rather than personal research. He had been with the PPDC for over a decade, the entirety of his adult life. He was never asked what he wanted. 

He could blame his work, but Hermann knew that would only be an excuse. His discomfort extended so much further than that. Want was selfish, want was frivolous, it was all the things he couldn’t be. Further still, deep in his bones, Hermann also knew that wanting was just the first step towards disappointment, a way to make whatever happened to him even more crushing. He’d always known that he did not get what he wanted. It had been a lesson learned so early he couldn’t even remember it. It was better to pretend he never wanted at all, to never admit that he could. Even to himself. Especially to himself. 

If he thought about what he wanted to look like, he wanted to run away. But Kenne was still looking at him expectantly, and Hermann was not about to have a breakdown in front of him. He’d have to answer. He swallowed, and tried to think of how he wanted to look, tried to remember advertisements or films or anything that wasn’t a lab. “Elegant,” he finally said, although he couldn’t say how long it had actually been. “Sharp.” 

Kenne nodded. “Like, Mafia boss…”

Hermann made a face of disgust, thinking of Hannibal Chau. “No. Nothing quite so gaudy. Something more refined.” 

“So more GQ.” Kenne made a note on the pad he was always carrying around. “Do you do color?”

Hermann thought for a moment. His sweaters always had a bit of color. He couldn’t quite pull of Newton’s casual monochromatism, he was already skeletal enough and ended up looking like a funeral director. “Yes, but nothing too…”

Kenne waved his hand. “Yes, yes. Jewel tones, I think with you…”

Hermann wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but he did remember one last request. “I want my trousers to fit.”

Kenne cracked a smile at that. “I can do that. Give me a moment, I’ll be back with samples. Lieke! Get Dr. Gottlieb a coffee and then meet me in the storeroom.” 

Hermann had nearly finished his coffee when they returned, Kenne in front as his assistant parked a cart filled with clothing in front of him. “I’ve got some ideas, but a few of them have options, so you will have to make a few choices. First – shirts.” 

There were three that Kenne pulled out, all in the sort of dark but vibrant colors that Hermann assumed were jewel tones. One had small gold designs on it that Hermann soon realized were constellations, ones that he recognized as he examined it, while the others were unadorned. He almost chose it, hand outstretched, before selecting another, a deep purple. 

“Great. We’ll build around it.” Kenne put the shirt down and started pulling out blazers, trousers, a blur of items. “Fortunately, you’re just about sample size, although we’ll still get anything you wear to events tailored, but at least this will be a start for your day-to-day.”

Hermann had no idea what any of that meant, but he took what Kenne handed him and went off to change. “The trousers are tight.”

“You wanted them to fit!”

“Fine.” 

He huffed about it a bit, but eventually was convinced with the trousers, and with the clothes in general. It was at least better than it was the previous day, and he could see what Kenne was going for. There were a few things that he liked, even, standing in front of the mirror as Kenne took measurements and added pieces. It felt less torturous, almost fun.

Another break, and Hermann found himself by the rack again. The constellation shirt, it turned out, was embroidered rather than printed, tiny links of gold thread connecting the stars together. He turned the sleeve over in his hand, investigating which ones were represented.

“You like that one, don’t you?”

Hermann hadn’t heard Kenne come up, lost in contemplation as he was. “I used to be interested in the stars,” he said softly, thinking of the arrays and equipment of his younger years, the fascinating mystery of it all. “Before all…this.”

“You should try it on, then.”

Hermann hesitated, although he did want to. “Don’t you think it’s a bit…tacky?”

“It’s Givenchy,” Kenne said, as if that explained anything. “Not exactly a novelty NASA souvenir. Here, try it on. With the black suit, the solid one.” 

Newton had many of those novelty T-shirts, Hermann thought, but obligingly went to change anyway. He stepped back out to once again let Kenne fuss over some details Hermann could never identify, something about the way the jacket sat on his frame. “I think it suits you,” he said, looking pleased with himself before casting his eye towards Hermann’s cane. “How attached are you to the cane?”

Hermann still hadn’t seen himself, but the boldness of the question startled him. “I need it to walk,” he replied, almost but not quite a snap.

“Yes, of course,” Kenne said with a roll of his eyes, “but do you need that one specifically, or can it be replaced?”

Hermann had never thought that much about his cane. It was Shatterdome medical issue, solid and reliable, the latest in a succession of them. “I suppose so,” he said carefully. 

“Great. Lieke! The canes, please!” 

The girl came bustling back with the requested canes, and Hermann looked quizzically at them. “Did you acquire all of these for me?”

Kenne shrugged, picking up one and holding it up to Hermann appraisingly. “For the next several months, possibly longer depending on how you play it, you will be the most famous cane user in the world. I’ve got designers falling over themselves to supply you.”

It was logical enough, although it contained implications that Hermann didn’t feel like thoroughly thinking through at the moment. Instead, he looked at the offered canes. Some were rather ostentatious, far too much for everyday use, although there was a stag-headed one that he rather liked and that Kenne put aside for potential photoshoot application. Eventually, he selected one of a reddish wood with a swirling grain, polished to a lovely shine, with metal inlays over the top of the shaft in a geometric pattern and the grip style he liked. It stood firm but lifted lightly, and Hermann liked the feel of it under his hand. 

Satisfied that Hermann had made a decision, Kenne turned him to the mirror. 

Hermann nearly dropped the cane. It wasn’t that he looked different, he’d had the afternoon to get accustomed to that, but that he looked like himself. Or some version of himself, anyway, the one that was poised, that was confident. That was elegant, but still recognizable. What he wanted but hadn’t thought possible. He had been resigned to total transformation, accepting of it even, but in front of him was still the person he had always been. The one who saved the world. 

“Givenchy suits you,” Kenne said, patting Hermann on the shoulder before going to compare notes with Lieke. 

Hermann still wasn’t sure what Givenchy was, but he supposed it did. 

~

Hermann felt much lighter as he opened the door to the flat. He’d worn the constellation shirt home, with a dark waistcoat and the slacks and shoes Kenne suggested. “Tell your boyfriend you’re welcome,” he’d said with a wink, and Hermann had flushed but he did want to see what Newton’s reaction was. He’d known Newton for over a decade, and he was fairly certain he’d owned the same clothes throughout, the same shirts and sweaters, the trousers that he supposed truly didn’t fit, if the ones he was wearing now were the standard of that sort of thing. Newton had learned who Hermann was in that style, and while he always made fun of Hermann’s clothing, it had an air of fondness about it these days. He wanted Newton to like the change, as silly as it felt. 

“Hey babe! Welcome…oh.” 

Hermann gripped the handle of his new cane as Newton stared at him, a look he couldn’t quite read. He gave into the urge to draw himself up higher. “Yes?” 

“You look…” Newton was still staring, and Hermann felt himself flush. “Great. Like…really. Wow.”

Hermann relaxed slightly. “You think so?”

“Yes,” Newton replied vehemently, his voice rising in the way that it did when he was excited. “Dude. Like, I don’t even…are those stars?”

“Constellations,” Hermann replied, preening a bit. It was, he felt, justified. It took a great deal to make Newton lose his words. “Fairly accurate, too, which is rather impressive for embroidery.” 

“Yeah. Impressive.” Newton brushed the stitching with his fingertips. He was standing closer now, eyes still roving over Hermann as if he didn’t quite know where to look. “It suits you. The shirt. And the pants and stuff. You look. It’s really…you look, really good.” 

The look on Newton’s face made his words resonate. He did look good. He wasn’t used to the feeling, but he liked it, liked the way that Newton looked at him. Newton always wore his emotions so clearly, and now his face registered an open and obvious appreciation, shot through with a just as obvious desire. It was a look Hermann liked on him. 

To be honest, he liked the way Newton looked right now in general. Not as styled as Hermann at the moment, which was an interesting change, but his low-cut sleeveless shirt showed off the broadness of his shoulders and the art that adorned his collarbones, while his soft grey sweatpants were just on the edge of tight, defining his thighs and curving over his ass. His hair was soft, unstyled, and he had the stubble of a few days without shaving. He looked unguarded. He looked like his. 

Hermann had always found Newton attractive, even during his years of being angry with him, but had rarely admitted it, even to himself. Even now that he had Newton, he didn’t always think about him in terms of physicality. He loved Newton, and it was somehow easier to think about their relationship on those terms than to admit the depth of his desire. Love was higher-minded, worthy of the world’s great poets and philosophers. There was an intellectual appeal to it, to submitting to it, that Hermann found comforting. And he knew that Newton loved him, and he would do anything Newton wanted. There was something selfless about love. 

There was nothing selfless about the way he felt when he looked at Newton like this. He wanted Newton, wanted to grab him and take him, wanted to touch and taste and feel the press of his body. He wanted. He always wanted, and he always found it difficult. 

But then, it had worked with the shirt, as silly as that felt. He liked it, Newton liked it, he would keep it. And Newton had never denied him anything, even when they were at their worst.

“Thank you,” Hermann murmured, grasping Newton’s wrist between his fingers and pulling him closer. Newton’s eyes flicked up, wide, and Hermann kissed him. 

Newton whimpered, an extremely gratifying sound, and Hermann slid his hand around to rest at the small of Newton’s back, pressing him close. It was still surprising how easy this was, how quickly Newton melted against him, eagerly opening his mouth to Hermann’s and gripping his waistcoat tightly. Newton was always so responsive. It was something that Hermann appreciated, a sort of guiding path that kept him focused on what Newton wanted him to do. 

Today, it spurred him on differently. Hermann deepened the kiss, flexing his fingers against Newt’s hip, tightening his grip on him. He wanted, and he could have. There was something dangerous in that, something forbidden, indulgent. He nosed at the join of Newton’s jaw, inhaling deeply, feeling reckless and intoxicated with the feel of him. Newton moaned and tilted his head back, his body slackening even as he continued to grip tightly onto Hermann’s clothes. “Christ, Hermann,” he whimpered, voice going high and breaking in the most quintessential Newtonian fashion. “Fuck. Please.”

“Please?” Hermann murmured, biting gently at Newt’s earlobe.

“Whatever the fuck you’re doing,” Newton panted, squirming as he tried to get closer to Hermann, to bare his neck and spread his legs. “Please. Just.”

“Hmmm.” Hermann licked around the curve of Newton’s ear, slipping his thumb underneath the hem of Newton’s shirt. Newton whined at the contact. They hadn’t moved far past the doorway of the flat, which Hermann supposed he should be embarrassed about, except that he was far too pleased with himself. He could see the bed over Newton’s shoulder through the wide passageway between the rooms. The flat wasn’t all that large, but it still felt so far away. Much closer was the kitchen island, which Hermann had thought was a waste of floor space before but now found was an excellent place to back Newton up against, hand against the skin of his stomach as he kissed him. Newton arched up as soon as he had something to lean against, gripping the back of Hermann’s neck for more leverage, grinding eagerly against his hip, as wanton as ever. Hermann truly adored him.

Newton’s shirt peeled off easily, tossed over the other side of the island, and as he often did Hermann took a moment to admire him, the stretch of ink across his collarbones, the flush of his cheeks, the way his erection visibly distended the fabric of his sweatpants. Newton looked beautiful and obscene, a vision out of a particularly daring gallery. Hermann smoothed his thumbs over his hipbones and kissed him again, possessive and hungry, wanting everything. Wanting to have him, to be closer, to take everything that Newton would give. He slipped a hand under Newton’s sweatpants, knowing that he rarely wore undergarments around the flat, and gripped his ass, flexing his fingers against the smooth skin and drawing a deep moan out of him. 

“Fuck, Hermann,” Newton gasped into Hermann’s mouth, tugging recklessly at the buttons of Hermman’s waistcoat as he writhed in his grasp. 

Hermann batted his hands away. “Be careful with that,” he murmured, kissing the corner of Newton’s mouth to soften his actions. “It’s new, and I’d quite like to keep it.” 

“C’mon,” Newton whined, looking pleadingly at Hermann, an expression only enhanced by how hard he was breathing, but dropped his hands. 

“Newton,” Hermann admonished, but stepped back just enough to unbutton the waistcoat, tossing it over the island where he’d thrown Newton’s shirt. He was more careful with his own shirt, because he really did want to keep it in decent condition, and because Hermann had leaned back with an appreciative look on his face and Hermann was struck with the desire to show off for him. It was not something he was entirely comfortable with. He’d never liked the way he looked, skinny and pale and with a leg full of scars, but Newton had a habit of not letting him hide. He always wanted to see Hermann. He could trust that the look on Newton’s face was genuine as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, placing it far enough away that they wouldn’t accidentally disturb it, that Newton meant it when he grinned brightly at Hermann’s revealed chest and leaned forward to nip along his collarbone. Newton always treated him with such glee, such unbridled appreciation. It was something Hermann had to get used to, but he was coming around, especially if it resulted in Newton’s mouth against him like this.

Groaning, Hermann palmed at Newton’s cock through his sweatpants, wanting to feel the heft of it, the urgency of him, straining against his hand. He’d done this to Newton. He’d got him worked up, desperate and eager and so hard against him. His own cock throbbed as Newton gasped against his chest and begged for more, almost knocking Hermann over in his urgency. Hermann pushed him back against the island, tangling his free hand in his hair, pulling his head to the side. “I want to fuck you,” he growled into Newton’s ear, bolder than normal, but the way Newton moaned and thrust up against him suggested he should state his desires clearly more often. 

“Yes. Fuck. Please.” Newton hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and dropped them easily, kicking them away in a rush. “How do you want me?”

“Turn around,” Hermann replied, and it was not nearly as easy to get out of his own trousers, but they were starting to feel constrictive and he had no intention of possibly damaging the one nice pair he now owned. They joined his constellation shirt on the island and then Newton is spread out beneath him, back arched, butt raised like he was trying to show off. He probably was. Hermann indulged him, smoothing his hand over the curve of one cheek delicately, but he was far too worked up to spend a lot of time admiring. Newton was so close, skin burning under Hermann’s touch, and Hermann wanted nothing more than to devour him.

There was a bottle of olive oil on the countertop and Hermann grabbed it, slicking his fingers without much finesse. He was more careful about sliding them into Newton, waiting until he was whimpering and pushing back against him before adding a second, a third, balancing carefully against him. He always liked to be thorough, but he especially liked the way that Newton begged for him, moaned about the length of his fingers and the way they opened him up. It would be questionable flattery, but Newton has never been that tactful, and it gets to Hermann every time. He worked his fingers in and out of Newton, thinking of how he would feel around his cock, now aching between his legs. He wanted. Oh, how he wanted.

He knew that Newton was ready when he wasn’t forming proper words any more, just pushing back against Hermann’s hand with a continual high whine, and Hermann couldn’t wait any more. He braced himself against Newton’s hips, shifting so that Newton took most of the weight, and pushed in with a gasp and a low moan. 

Newton was tight and hot and so ready for him, tossing his head back with a shout as Hermann pressed in deeper, whining and pushing back as Hermann fully sheathed himself. Hermann took a moment to gather his breath and savor the moment, Newton’s colorful back heaving underneath him, the soft whimpers he made, before he had to move. He started slowly at first, trying to be gentle, but it didn’t take long until he was thrusting in earnest, fingers digging into Newton’s hips tightly to hold him in place. His world narrowed down to his cock, pumping in and out of Newton like he had no other purpose in life. Perhaps he didn’t. Everything else seemed to pale in comparison to what he was doing now, pounding Newton into the kitchen island, as hard as he could manage. Newton himself was certainly encouraging, growing more and more vocal with each thrust, his high-pitched voice cracking through a stream of nonsensical praise and begging. Hermann hoped the neighbors couldn’t hear them. Or maybe, as his hips stuttered, he hoped they could. Something to examine later.

He felt himself getting closer and shifted slightly, just enough to wrap his hand around Newton’s cock. He gave it a few quick strokes, thumb sliding over the leaking head, which was all it took for Newt to come with a howl. Hermann gasped at the feel of it, of Newton’s come between his fingers and the way he shoved back against Hermann’s hips. Hermann managed a few more rough thrusts before he came with a shout of his own, emptying himself into Newton’s tight, willing body. He was sure he saw stars.

It took several moments for Hermann to catch his breath, leaning heavily against Newton, his back slick with sweat. His heart still pounded. With a soft sigh he pulled away, his legs more wobbly than usual, gripping tight to the edge of the counter in order to ensure he didn’t collapse entirely. He felt shaky, drained, but elated all the same, thrilled in what they’d just done. What he’d just done. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Hermann,” Newton said as he turned around, looking as wobbly as Hermann. “Fuck.”

Hermann raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

Newton dissolved into giggles, nearly falling onto the floor. “Had a good day out, then?”

Hermann grinned back, reaching forward to smooth back Newton’s hair, gone even more unruly in their exertions. He loved him. “I suppose you could say that. But a better evening, I think.”

Newton grinned and kissed him again, light and playful. “You fucking sap.” With a groan, he pushed himself off the island, grabbing Hermann’s new cane and handing it to him. “C’mon. We need a shower.” 

Hermann supposed he would have to thank Kenne after all. 

~

“Hermann, you’re going to miss it!” 

Hermann sighed, deliberately waiting until he put his toothbrush back in the holder before responding. “Must I?”

“Yes! C’mon, you’re on!”

Hermann made a face into the mirror. He had already been through the ordeal of going on the program – he didn’t particularly want to see the results. He understood, distantly, why Newton would want to watch it, although considering that Newton had been there for the taping it seemed unnecessary to him. But Newton wanted to watch, which meant that Hermann’s options were starting an argument about it or watching it with him, and he didn’t feel like having an argument tonight. He was learning, slowly, to pick his battles. 

Sighing, he grabbed his cane and went off to the bedroom, where Newton was almost vibrating in his excitement. “Babe, you’re already on!” he squealed, patting the bed next to him. “Look!”

Sliding onto the bed, Hermann forced himself to look at the television screen. He had to admit, he looked all right, like someone who could be a bestselling author. Kenne had put him in a close-fitting charcoal grey suit with a dark red shirt and matching pocket square, which showed up nicely on screen. He’d been skeptical of the shoes, which were a little more ostentatious than he would have chosen for himself, but the overall appearance seemed to work. He liked the way he looked. It was a new experience, and Hermann decided he liked it.

“You look hot, babe,” Newton murmured to him, grinning. 

“I suppose.” Hermann managed to smile, trying to ignore that he was starting to talk on screen. He’d practiced interviews, but he knew there was a difference between theory and actuality. He didn’t actually remember a huge amount from the taping, as he’d been mostly preoccupied with trying not to panic under the lights, and he hoped he didn’t come off as nervous as he had felt. It wouldn’t sell any books if he was.

Newton stroked Hermann’s hand gently, resting his head on his shoulder, for once quiet as he focused on the screen but soothing nonetheless. Hermann exhaled deeply and forced himself to watch as he answered the host’s questions, relaxing slightly as he realized he was sounding somewhat reasonable. At the very least, not a complete embarrassment. 

_-So, Dr. Gottlieb. I’d imagine that there are still a million questions about the Anteverse – can we expect to see more from you about it in the future?_

__

__

_-There are most certainly questions, Niko, but I don’t think so, no. What I saw there…it was something we are not meant to see. Not now. There might be mysteries in that universe, but there are ones in ours as well, and I feel that is what I am meant to solve._

“Did you mean that?” Newton asked, gesturing at the screen. 

Hermann tensed. Despite everything, they’d yet to truly discuss the future. Hermann was almost certain that the interviewer’s question was the first time he’d addressed it himself. But New York had forced him to think about what he wanted, and he was almost certain he knew now. “Yes,” he said quietly, watching the image of himself fade into commercials. “I don’t…what I saw in our Drift, Newton, I don’t want to go back there. I can’t. And I’ve spent what seems like my entire life fighting the Kaiju. Every dream I once had I gave up to do so. I don’t want to give them any more.” 

“That’s fair,” Newton said, threading his fingers in between Hermann’s and squeezing gently, reassuring. “You’ll probably be able to retire on the book, y’know.”

Hermann made a face. “I’m not ready for that, my dear.” He sighed, thinking of who he was before the Kaiju came. He wasn’t that boy any more, he couldn’t be, but he could still remember his dreams. He held one of them right now. “I meant what I said. I still want to understand the makeup of our universe. There are still questions.” He looked down at their linked hands. “I suppose Boston is as good of a place as any to start looking for answers.”

Newton jerked up. “You mean that?” he squeaked.

“I think so,” Hermann said carefully, smiling as Newton squealed and kissed him, pushing him back onto the bed in his enthusiasm. Newton had never said it directly, but Hermann knew how much he wanted to go back to the place he called home. He talked about it enough, always telling whoever would listen about the city, the region, where he would go as soon as the war was over and he could get back. Hermann, while not entirely certain about living in America, had no such attachments to a place. England was mostly bad memories, Germany far too close to his family. When he truly thought about it, all he wanted was to be with Newton, to make him happy. Boston was likely to do that. He wanted to find out for certain.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Dr. Hermann Gottlieb was looking forward to the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to everyone in the Discord for their encouragement! Come bother me on Twitter [here.](https://twitter.com/_louisquatorze)


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